


at the end of the day

by broniichan



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, POV Alternating, barely an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 08:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19291891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broniichan/pseuds/broniichan
Summary: Makoto comes to a stop at a crosswalk, and distracted, Haruka bumps into him.“Hm?” Makoto looks over his shoulder.“Sorry.”Makoto looks amused. “Be careful, Haru-chan. It’s dangerous to walk around with your head in the clouds here.”





	at the end of the day

**Author's Note:**

> for [joanie.](https://twitter.com/daikimine) hope you like it

The week the cherry blossoms are at the height of their blooms, it rains.

Some brave souls go to hanami anyway, but Makoto dashes from building to building, shoes splashing through puddles swimming with petals. College orientation is a whirlwind of new information, people, places, and he’s looking forward to the semester actually starting. So far he’s barely seen the same person twice, attending meetings by himself with Haru also dealing with his own orientations and initiations at Hidaka.

Rain pounds the sidewalks the morning of the freshman class’ initiation ceremony, and the ceremony is moved from the soccer field to one of the auditoriums. Chatter and squeaking shoes fill the air as people file in, shaking off the rain from their jackets and organizing by last name. Makoto sits in between a guy talking animatedly with the guy on his other side and a girl who says nothing, scrolling through pictures on her phone.

When several minutes pass with the guy on his side deeply entrenched in his conversation, Makoto focuses on the other girl. “Hi,” he ventures. “I’m Makoto.”

She does not look up from her phone. “Kaori.”

“Nice to meet you.”

A dip of her head. Her thumb pauses on a picture of a model wearing some designer outfit.

Makoto exhales and sinks back into his seat. He checks his watch. Still another ten minutes until the initiation begins. He cranes his head to study the auditorium; people are still finding their seats. Not a single person he knows.

Pulling out his phone to pass the time, he’s surprised to see a text from Haru.

**icebreakers are annoying**

**i don’t have any interesting facts about me**

 

**Sure you do! You went to nationals for swimming, you’re good at art, you’re good at cooking, you already have experience living alone**

 

**who cares**

**anyway i started making some up**

**so my one class thinks i lived in siberia and swam in the ocean there**

 

**Haru!!! Don’t lie to people!!**

Haru doesn’t reply after that, so Makoto pockets his phone and sits in silence, conversations dancing around him. Kaori types something on her phone.

Finally, the initiation begins. The speeches are dry and uninteresting, punctuated by rain pummeling the roof above. Some chairman of some board is in the middle of talking about their responsibilities as adults.

A sharp boom of thunder.

Makoto flinches, hand jerking out and grabbing Kaori’s arm. She recoils, curling her lip at him,  and he immediately releases her. “Sorry—Sorry!”

With the room tittering at the thunder, no one notices, and Kaori slouches back into her seat, arms folded over her chest.

The chairman pushes up his glasses and continues speaking.

Thunder rolls. Makoto sits rigid, sweaty palms clasped together.

* * *

“Nanase, keep your arm from bending too much.”

Haruka nods, pulling his goggles over his eyes and pushing off into the lane again. The atrium echoes with voices and splashes, Haruka sharing a lane with Asahi and the other first years. The guy swimming in front of Haruka—his name slips Haruka’s mind—goes at a slower pace than Haruka, so Haruka in turn must slow behind him. Asahi speeds ahead with his distinctively aggressive and powerful style.

The water here at Hidaka still feels new, unfamiliar, but with every practice spent feeling its resistance, Haruka grows more accustomed to it, able to find beauty in its difference from Iwatobi.

At the end of the practice, Haruka stops at the end of one lane, where Asahi is draped over the ledge, panting.

“See,” says one of the coaches, “you’re great at sprints, Shiina, but if you want to elevate your swimming, you need to work on endurance. If you use up all of your energy at the start, it doesn’t matter how much of a lead you get.”

Asahi nods, slapping down his swim cap and smoothing back his hair.

When Haruka steps out of the pool, no one offers him a hand.

After showering and changing, they sit through a brief meeting with the rest of the team and disperse for dinner.

Asahi ruffles his damp hair, frowning at his phone. “Kisumi says he and Makoto are waiting by the north gate.”

They hurry through the campus grounds, cobble leading them to the perfectly manicured bushes and flowers at the north gate.

“Hey!” Kisumi calls from beside a hydrangea bush, waving.

Makoto stands on Kisumi’s side, hands in his pockets.

They exchange pleasantries about their respective days—Asahi and Haruka on practice, Kisumi and Makoto on class—and leave campus, falling into twos on the sidewalk: Kisumi and Makoto, Asahi and Haruka.

Behind Makoto, Haruka looks at the back of his head. His hair is messy at the back in a way that suggests Makoto did not take his own long-standing advice and went to bed before waiting for his hair to dry. Haruka’s fingers itch for a comb.

Makoto comes to a stop at a crosswalk, and distracted, Haruka bumps into him.

“Hm?” Makoto looks over his shoulder.

“Sorry.”

Makoto looks amused. “Be careful, Haru-chan. It’s dangerous to walk around with your head in the clouds here.”

Haruka clicks his tongue and looks away.

Still smiling, Makoto faces the street.

They have a nice time at Asahi’s sister’s cafe, talking and laughing, Kisumi teasing everything out of Asahi, who only grows more agitated. Haruka thinks of Nagisa and Rei, wonders what they’re doing right now.

Afterward, the four split up at the station, their apartments in different directions. First Asahi and Kisumi, and then it’s just Makoto and Haruka, trying to keep up with each other with the flow of people brushing past them. Shoulders bumping.

Makoto peels away, nodding at the sign for his platform. “See you later, Haru-chan,” he says, waving.

“Bye,” Haruka says, raising his hand. “Drop the—”

The current pushes Haruka out of hearing, Makoto heading up the escalator.

As Haruka boards the train back for his apartment, he peers through the dark windows, the train on the track beside his filling up as well. Ears full with the voices of his own train, he watches people’s mouths move on the other train, imagining what they might be saying.

Rumbling, the other train sets off, people turning into glowing blurs. The air is empty when the train is gone.

* * *

Makoto doesn’t like the gym.

There’s nothing _wrong_ with it, per se, but it’s cramped, stuffy, and something about running on only a treadmill feels limiting, so Makoto goes for runs around campus and around parks. No sea salt breeze, no seagulls, no Haru by his side, but parks with kids playing, people riding their bicycles, and distant rumbles of trains and cars prove an interesting change in scenery.

He jogs past a playground, slowing to take a sip from his water bottle. Kids scream and chatter, parents watching from afar. A couple of kids clamber up to the top of a jungle gym, marking their territory at the peak.

There was a dome jungle gym when Makoto was in elementary school—one that seemed taller than anything else in the world at the time. Makoto’s little child hands shook and his palms grew sweaty against the metal bars. Haru, of course, had no problem climbing to the top, where he slipped through the bars and jumped down inside. Other kids followed in suit, but Makoto continued to cling to the outside, nowhere near the peak.

“Come on, it’s not that scary!” one of their classmates said from inside. “The jump isn’t even that high.”

Makoto found Haru’s gaze. To the outside, Haru looked disinterested, unengaged, but Makoto saw the twitch of his mouth.

Haru said, “I’m bored of this.” He squeezed out of the dome, ignoring the disappointed groans from the other kids, and stopped at the foot of the jungle gym.

Realizing Haru was waiting for him, Makoto scurried down without looking down. Haru grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him away from the other kids and the jungle gym.

He pointed to the swingset and said, “Let’s swing.”

Clearing the memory away, Makoto surveys the playground, sipping on his water. A shout rises up—parents rush to a kid kneeling in the dirt. The kid wails loudly, but it’s only a scraped knee, and after some gentle words from what must be the mom, the kid is escorted off to the side and treated. The other kids return to playing, but one kid lingers, head turned to the kid with the scraped knee.

Makoto puts the cap back on his water bottle and jogs off.

* * *

The stiff, uncomfortable classroom seats are barely full by the time Haruka arrives, despite his being only one minute before class is supposed to begin. With a class this small, any person that skips is exceptionally noticeable, but at least people skipping provides Haruka the space to select a seat detached from everyone else.

The professor, setting up his powerpoint, glances up at the wall clock. “Alright, everybody,” he says. He does not take attendance, diving straight into the first slide of his lecture.

All throughout class, rain pours on the windows, blurring the trees outside into greenish blobs. A couple of times, the wind sweeps past so fiercely that the dark shutters flap and smack against the glass, darkening the already dreary room.

After the professor has sent them off with homework for next class and Haruka has doodled odd, purposeless forms in the margins of his notes, Haruka leaves the classroom, filing into the hallway bustling with the class change.

“Nanase-kun!”

He turns around, finding a girl with chin length blond hair dashing after him. It takes a second for him to process she’s one of the people in his class, and that she knows his name because of the icebreaker at the beginning of the semester. He reaches for her name: nothing.

“Sorry,” she says, catching up and surpassing him, and he, a step behind, resumes walking. “I just noticed during class—your drawings are really good!”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Are you self-taught or did you learn in a class?”

As they turn toward the staircase with the crowd of fellow students, Haruka replies, “There were art classes at school, but I mostly just draw on my own.”

“Oh, that’s so cool! Aren’t you on the swim team, too? You’re so talented.”

They arrive on the first floor landing. Haruka dips his head as a response.

The girl tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I bet you must’ve had so much inspiration in the landscape of Siberia.”

For a second he’s confused before he remembers the lie. “I prefer drawing people,” he blurts.

“Oh, that’s cool too!” They reach the hall’s front doors, people huddling under the awning from the gale. She plucks up her bold orange umbrella. “Jeez, it’s been so wet this year. I know it’s rainy season and all, but this is ridiculous.”

“Mm.”

Opening up the umbrella, she places a look on him. “Hey, are you going to dinner? We could go together.”

Haruka shakes his head. “I’m meeting with a friend.”

“Oh, I see! Have fun!” With a wave, she steps out into the rain, joining the colorful bobbing swarm of umbrellas. “See you in class!”

Haruka waves back. Watching her bright image grow smaller and smaller, he opens his own umbrella and steps into the puddles.

Within a few minutes, his shoes and shins are soaking wet. He regrets wearing jeans, for as much as he loves water, he does not love the feeling of wet clothing against his skin. That’s one reason why he’s so quick to pull off his clothes. A quick walk to the station has his sneakers squishing under him, and the trainride in a damp and muggy car provides a brief respite from the onslaught, but once back on the streets, he’s bombarded once more.

He stops at a crosswalk, passing cars splashing water onto the sidewalk. A sudden forceful wind hits, raindrops careening sideways. Haruka’s hands tighten around the umbrella handle, wind tugging on it. The wind grabs hold, pulling the umbrella inside out. Eyes squinted against the rain, Haruka clings on for a moment, but his hand slackens and the umbrella goes flying from his hands. It flies down the street, bouncing out of sight.

Now at the will of the elements, Haruka considers whether to chase after it or not, but the crosswalk light turns green. He crosses the street.

By the time he arrives, Makoto is waiting in front of a department store, safe and dry underneath his own umbrella.

Looking up, Makoto frowns. “Haru! Where’s your umbrella?”

“Lost it.”

“What? Why didn’t you buy a new one?” Makoto asks, exactly as Haruka expected him to.

Haruka shrugs. “I don’t mind the rain,” he says, exactly as he knows Makoto expects him to. He squints at Makoto’s chest. “What are you wearing?”

“Huh?” Makoto glances down at the horrendous orange and green plaid button down. “A shirt?”

“Hm. I liked you better before you wore that.”

“Haru! You’re so mean!”

The fussing and insistence they share the umbrella (which is useless at this point, since Haruka is utterly drenched anyway) feel the same as always, but as they walk to the restaurant, something crawls underneath Haruka’s skin.

The ramen place they’ve gotten into the habit of going to is tucked in a narrow street, with only five seats available at the counter. Shaking off the water best he can, Haruka takes a seat, relaxing in the new warmth.

Trailing after Haruka’s footprints and droplets all over the floor, Makoto apologizes for Haruka to the cook at the counter, bowing.

The cook shrugs. “Eh. The floor needed washing, anyway.”

They settle in and order their food. For a tiny, unknown place such as this, their ramen is surprisingly good, even for Haruka’s standards, and he and Makoto fall silent as they eat, soaking up the hot broth and letting the rainwater dry. The silence is welcome, familiar, something that can never be recreated in the same way with anyone other than Makoto. Swallowing hot noodles, Haruka looks to his side. Splotches of errant water darken Makoto’s jacket sleeve, snuck past the umbrella.

When they finish and pay, they walk side by side under the umbrella, shoulders brushing. They eventually step into the shelter of the station’s north entrance, other people clustered around columns and watching the rain fall.

Makoto closes the umbrella and shakes it, droplets splattering the tile below. The cloth on his shoulder, the one that brushed up against Haruka’s damp clothes, is smudged darker.

“Here,” Makoto says, handing over the umbrella.

Haruka frowns at it.

Makoto does not back down, smiling. “I’ll remember to buy a new one before you do, so take it.”

Haruka takes it.

They take their separate trains, Haruka holding the unfamiliar umbrella in tense fingers. He reluctantly uses it on the walk back to his apartment, but the rain is only a faint mist now. In the gray of his apartment, he sets down his damp backpack and pulls out his notebook. The pages are wrinkled, his pencil lines smeared.

His “notes” from today are not completely damaged: a sketch of a hand at the corner of the page remains sharp and clear.

Haruka rips the page out.

* * *

Makoto isn’t used to texting Haru.

Back in Iwatobi, it was superfluous. They saw each other nearly every day, and even on the days they didn’t, they could just make the short trip up or down the stairs to the other’s house if they had something they needed to say. Haru has always been notoriously terrible at maintaining any sort of technological presence, much to the annoyance of everyone else (and sometimes Makoto), so talking in person was always the optimal mode of communication.

But as almost adults now, the two of them upgraded from flip phones to smartphones, sharing the same model with different color cases. Makoto figured he couldn’t let this go to waste and made sure Haru knew how to use it before they set off for Tokyo. Haru still isn’t much of a texter, not like Nagisa (who will send essays about the dinner he had the other night), and he isn’t savvy at social media like Kisumi (who somehow knows everything about everyone), but with their different schedules, schools, courses, and friends, he’s forced to provide updates, to coordinate his schedule with Makoto’s. They’re no longer privy to all the little moments in each other’s daily lives.  

Settling back in his desk chair, Makoto selects the contact name ‘HOME’ and presses the call button. A couple of rings.

“Hello?” His mom.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says.

“Hey, sweetheart!” she chirps back, and the sound of her voice, distant and unclear as it is, warms his chest. “Hold on, let me call the twins—Ren! Ran! Makoto’s on the phone!”

Muffled shrill voices in the background.

Scuffles, and Ran yells, “Nii-chan!”

“Hey there.”

“Nii-chan!” echoes Ren.

“I was talking to him first!” Ran complains.

Makoto smiles at the two of them bickering like usual. With calmly stern words, his mom wrangles the two together and regains control of the phone. Clatters of dishes in the background. Dinnertime.

They catch up on generalities, and she asks, “So, how’s Haru-kun?”

“He’s good! He’s busy with classes and practice. His first official meet is in a couple of weeks, so he’s been training for that.”

“Oh, that’s exciting! I almost want to come down to see it, but…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Well, I know he won’t, so you better. Anyway, I’m glad to hear he’s doing well! He has been helping you settle in, right? He said he’d help you with cooking.”

“Yes, Mom. He’s been helping me, but I’m not that bad on my own, you know.”

“Well, I just worry, okay? You haven’t been alone like this before.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Okay, okay. Have you made any new friends recently?”

He scratches his head. “Ah, there are some people in my classes I talk to, but I’ve mostly been hanging out with Haru, Kisumi, and Asahi.”

“Oh. Maybe try branching out a little? I’m glad you’re all close, but you’re in Tokyo! Biggest city in the world! Meet some new people.”

His insides twist, but he forces a laugh. “Okay, I’ll try.”

They say farewell with shouts from Ren and Ran, and then the phone call ends, leaving Makoto alone in his room, the silence making him wonder if he only imagined their voices.

He switches to LINE, opening up his messages with Haru. The last time they texted was over the weekend, when they met up to hang out. He stares at the screen, watching the cursor blink in the empty textbox.

 _“There will be a typhoon next week,”_ Haru had said, with such gravitas Makoto almost believed Haru prophesied it, until he looked over and saw the weather forecast pulled up on Haru’s phone.

Makoto locks his phone and sets it aside, glancing out the window. Warm and sunny. No sign of a typhoon.

After wasting twenty minutes watching random videos on his phone, he buckles down and gets to work on his paper, churning out a good bit of text as the sun sets and the world outside turns dark. Rain begins to sprinkle, hitting the glass of the window, gradually growing heavier and heavier.

Makoto calls it quits for now and takes a shower. Squeaky clean with his glasses on, he flicks off all the lights except his bedside table and reads a little from a musty book he picked up in the library.

Wind howls.

When his eyes begin to droop, Makoto places the book and his glasses on the bedside table and turns off the light, settling down into his comforter.

Rain hammers on his window. A gust of wind roars, the walls of the apartment creaking. Makoto holds his breath.

As Haru said, the typhoon is here, pushing and pulling without a break, its force and insistence making it sound like Makoto’s window might shatter at any second.

Makoto squinches his eyes shut, trying to block out the wall of noise, but every howl sets his pulse climbing. If this were back in Iwatobi, he’d have Ren and Ran in his bed, clinging to him in fright, but right now, he has nothing to hold except his bedsheets.

The time glows red from his alarm clock. 24:49. 01:27. 02:14. The typhoon growls and moans.

Slowly, eventually, the winds relax and the rain returns to a drizzle, and Makoto releases his sheets.

His alarm blares at seven the next morning. He sits up and shuts it off, staring at the wall for a moment with unseeing eyes.

Outside is a beautiful, sunny day, or it would be if not for the telltale remains of the typhoon last night: a trashcan knocked over, bottles spilling out onto the sidewalk; broken leaves and branches scattered across the road.

Makoto checks his phone and learns morning classes are cancelled due to the typhoon snapping the Yotsuya line during the night. With sudden free time gifted to him, he takes his breakfast slowly, nursing his cup of coffee rather than chugging it down and burning his tongue like usual. His other messages are a flurry of activity in the wake of the storm. Haru’s name is among them.

Makoto sets his mug down and reads.

**are you okay**

Sent an hour ago.

**Yes??? Why wouldn’t I be**

Haru isn’t the one to respond quickly, but within seconds of Makoto pressing send, the typing bubble pops up.

**the typhoon was intense**

 

**Ha ha I’m totally fine, it was just a little rain and wind**

**It’s not like I’m a little kid or anything**

The lack of a reply feels more penetrative than a reply would have, like one of Haru’s silent, pensive looks that say, _I don’t believe you._

When Makoto leaves for class in the afternoon in hot, humid air, maintenance workers move about the streets, reordering the world after the typhoon. By the time he returns home after classes and dinner in the cafeteria, the streets are spotless.

Makoto goes for a run in the dark, following streetlamps. His feet lead him to the park, which is quiet around this time except for a few stragglers. The playground is empty. He slows, sweat slick on the back of his neck. A single lamppost illuminates the silver bars of the jungle gym.

He clambers up the jungle gym, reaching the top much easier than he remembers as a kid. Settled on top, he looks down into the inside, struck by that familiar rumble of nervous energy at seeing the distance between him and the ground.

He exhales. Wedging himself through the bars, he jumps down. The rush of adrenaline lasts only a second as he realizes he’s taller than the jungle gym and must stoop in order to not bang his head on the silver bars. He stands up straight, and his head pokes up out of the top.

In the dim light, a tree stands with a branch snapped and dangling.

* * *

Haruka hears the crowd before he sees it.

He trails behind Asahi and his other teammates through cinderblock halls, his goggles and cap clenched in his hand. The voices grow louder over splashes and echoing announcements. The hall brightens up, and they’re under a tall atrium, the Olympic sized pool rippling as a heat concludes.

Haruka stretches on the sidelines with the rest of his team, passively listening to their chatter while scanning the crowd sat on either side of the pool. It’s Kisumi he spots first; that hair is always a dead giveaway. Beside him sits Makoto, too far away for Haruka to make out the details of his face. Makoto turns his head, his attention toward Haruka’s direction.

Inhaling, Haruka looks away and unzips his jacket.

With the buzzer, their relay begins. Haruka waits for his turn as the anchor, watching his teammates splash through the water with cheering filling his head. During Asahi’s leg, he can hear Kisumi and Makoto.

His turn. He watches, waits, and dives in.

When he slams his hand to the wall, first, his teammates erupt into cheers. A hand is waiting for him, outstretched—but it is Asahi’s hand. Haruka takes it anyway and lets Asahi pull him out, Asahi’s grip too tight for comfort.

Haruka receives hugs and pats on the shoulder from the team, but his eyes raise to the seats. Kisumi and Makoto are on their feet. Makoto meets his eyes and smiles, waving a hand. After a pause, Haruka raises his hand.

The cheers quiet down, and the return to the locker rooms.

The day continues; Haruka’s individual events go well—first for 100m, third for 200m—and once showered and dressed in regular clothes, he follows the rest of his teammates out of the sports complex for a brief meeting.

An orange sun sets as they break up, scattered people spilling out of the natatorium.

“Yo, Kisumi!” Asahi calls, waving.

Haruka turns—Kisumi and Makoto approaching from across the sidewalk.

Kisumi smiles and high-fives Asahi. “Nice job, you two!” He drapes an arm over Haruka’s shoulders, and Haruka does not push him off. “Especially you, Haru!”

“Oi,” complains Asahi. “I did well too, you know. He’s just a monster.”

They slip into lighthearted bickering, Kisumi sliding away from Haruka. Haruka’s eyes lift to Makoto, who stands a polite distance away, hands clasped behind his back.

It’s odd—Haruka, despite people’s first impression of him being cold and unfeeling, likes touch. While touch isn’t how he communicates his affection like Nagisa (who drapes himself over everyone) or Rin (who nudges and high-fives and fistbumps), he likes to receive it from others. It’s odd, because Makoto is the one with the warm and outgoing personality, yet except for instances where touch is a necessity (keeping Haruka from jumping into a random body of water, tugging on Haruka’s shirt when he’s afraid, holding Asahi back from a fight), he almost avoids touch.

Makoto tilts his head and smiles. “You’re always the best, Haru-chan.”

Something heavy weighs down Haruka’s stomach. “Drop the -chan.”

Loud voices interrupt before another word is said, some of Haruka’s teammates, including Mikoshiba, straggle past.

“Yo, Nanase, Shiina!” Inoue calls. “We’re going out to dinner, if you wanna join.”

Asahi’s eyes flick to Kisumi and Makoto. “Uh—”

“Your friends can come too.”

Kisumi says sure and Makoto shrugs.

The walk there is loud, rowdy, Haruka’s teammates overflowing with energy, and Haruka barely has a moment to think to himself. They go to a kaitenzushi place where they push together two tables, the wait staff looking on in horror yet allowing it to happen. Everyone claims their seats, and Haruka finds himself sequestered at one end with Inoue, Kiryuu, and Unita, while Mikoshiba, Kisumi, Asahi, and Makoto sit at the other end.

Plates accumulate as everyone plucks dishes from the conveyor belt. Haruka selects mackerel nigiri first, slowly chewing while the others inhale theirs. On the other end of the table, Makoto eats a tempura shrimp roll.

The conversations split off in different directions with so many people at the table. Haruka tunes out Inoue and Unita talking about hook-ups they’ve had, instead eyeing Mikoshiba calmly talking with Kisumi and Makoto.

“Nanase, you sure are quiet.”

Haruka looks forward; Inoue smirks.

Remembering the topic they’re on, Haruka picks up his water and says, “I’m always quiet.”

Inoue shares a look with Unita. “Got any good stories to add? The floor’s yours.”

“Nope.” Haruka drinks.

“Hm…” Inoue wiggles his eyebrows. “I guess you wouldn’t be the type to kiss and tell.” He sighs dejectedly, and turns to Kiryuu. “Wait, what happened to that girl who…”

The conversation shifts and flows away from Haruka again, like a river, and he merely sits there, watching it happen. Sipping more water, Haruka glances to the other end of the table, finding Makoto’s eyes on him. A faint smile on Makoto’s mouth. He winks.

A drop of condensation trickles down Haruka’s water. Makoto focuses back on Mikoshiba like nothing happened.

The meal ends with Unita winning most plates, and after a slight bumble trying to split the check, they leave the restaurant, the world alight with glowing signs outside.

“We should go clubbing,” Inoue suggests.

“I’m down,” Asahi says, glancing to Kisumi.

Murmurs of agreement from the others.

“I’m going home,” Haruka says, zipping up his jacket.

“Come on,” Inoue groans. “Have fun once in a while.”

“No.”

“Please? I’ll buy you that fishcake from the cafeteria every day for two weeks.”

Haruka pauses, hands in his pockets. “Fine. Only for a little bit,” he adds, firmly, “then I’m going home.”

Inoue smiles and nods. “Deal.”

The group reshuffles along the walk to the station, and Haruka ends up beside Makoto. With the noise of the others to compare to, Makoto is conspicuously quiet, head down and eyes focused on something distant.

Guilt blooms in Haruka’s stomach. “You don’t have to come,” he says.

“Hm?” Makoto’s head pops up. “Oh, it’ll be fun. I’ve never done anything like that, anyway.”

“Hm.”

Makoto looks ahead, eyes reflecting flashing signs.

They take the train to Shibuya, changing lines once, crammed in tight beside everyone else—parents with their kids, business employees getting off of work, teenagers with dyed hair and colorful makeup.

Shibuya is swarming on a Saturday night. As they pass a crosswalk, Unita looks back and says, “Oh, I know a club that doesn’t check IDs. You know, for the underage among us.”

Makoto says nothing, but there’s a tension in his shoulders.

The crosswalk turns red.

They stop at a Family Mart along the way for the others to pregame with cheap drinks (though Mikoshiba says he will be watching the younger ones present to make sure they don’t overdo it), while Haruka studies the canned fish. Everyone but him and Makoto ends up buying a drink, and once the others finish their drinks, they follow Unita up the winding streets to a club with a fuschia neon sign reading CHRYSANTHEMUM.

After a short wait in line, faint pulsating music and cigarette smoke hanging in the air, they pay the entrance fee of one thousand five hundred yen and enter. A coin locker room, a long hallway, and the dance floor itself, disco ball turning overhead, purple and pink lights flashing over a crowded floor, small maroon booths, and a bar.

Depositing their belongings in the coin lockers, the group breaks off into different directions, voices lost over the thundering music. Haruka glues himself to the club wall, separate from the action while Kisumi and Asahi head for the dance floor. Makoto lingers beside him.

Lights change to reds with song changes. Haruka loses sight of the others in the swarm.

Makoto says something, voice drowned out.

“What?” Haruka shouts.

Makoto leans into him, saying into his ear, “Do you want me to get you something to drink?”

“Oh. Just water.”

Makoto straightens up. A wry smile. “I figured.”

He weaves into the crowd toward the bar, standing out with his height. Haruka watches him go. His ear burns.

Far more uncomfortable alone, Haruka folds his arms and avoids making eye contact with anyone until Makoto returns, carrying two small bottles of water.

“Can you believe these cost five hundred each?” Makoto complains, handing one to Haruka.

“Sorry. I’ll pay you back.”

Makoto shakes his head, uncapping his bottle. “Don’t worry about it.” He takes a drink. Haruka cracks the lid of his water.

They stand for a little bit, watching the chaos and sipping on their waters and milking them for all five hundred yen.

Kisumi and Asahi slip out from the crowds, faces flushed, and approach Haruka and Makoto.

“Jeez, couple of wallflowers over here,” Asahi says, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re here, you might as well enjoy it.”

“I’m having fun,” Haruka retorts. He sips the last of his water.

“Yeah, I’m convinced. Come on, loosen up, ya nerds.”

“I’m loose.”

Asahi grimaces. He sighs and waves a dismissive hand. “Fine, I give up.” He returns to the dance floor.

Kisumi twists his lips. “You two are _so_ boring,” he says, wheeling around and marching after Asahi.

Red light tainting Makoto’s hair, he takes a sip of water, eyes thoughtful.

Haruka studies him, fingers curled around the light, empty water bottle. “It’s loud.”

Eyebrows raised, Makoto blinks down at him. “Hm?”

Haruka leans closer, shoulder brushing Makoto’s, and repeats into his ear, “It’s loud.”

“Oh, yeah, it is,” Makoto says. He closes his bottle.

“I’m going to go home.” Before Makoto can protest, Haruka turns for the exit.

As he expected, Makoto follows. “Haru, wait—”

They pass a long line for the bathroom.

“Don’t you want to say goodbye to Asahi and Kisumi and the others?” Makoto asks, stopping at Haruka’s side as Haruka unlocks his coin locker.

“Goodbye,” Haruka says, withdrawing his bag and slamming the locker shut.

“That’s not what I—” Makoto sighs and trails Haruka out of the club.

Outside is cool, refreshing after the heat and smoke. People continue to wait in line for the club, others loitering and drinking and smoking.

Makoto pulls out his phone. “I’ll text the others that we’re leaving,” he grumbles.

“You don’t have to leave with me.”

Makoto doesn’t reply, typing. They trek up the winding hill, Makoto veering off into oncoming people with his eyes glued to his phone.

Haruka grabs his sleeve and yanks him back. “Pay attention, Makoto.”

With a sheepish look, Makoto presses ‘SEND’ and stuffs his phone into his pocket.

Down the hill, back to the station teeming with people. They squeeze in and board a train right before the doors slam shut, leaving them squashed up against the door. With a couple of stops, they shift to stand in front of a row of seats,where both the elderly woman and the young woman sat there stand up at the next stop, gifting them with two seats beside each other.

Makoto sits with his hands politely folded over his lap. He only moves when the train turns and bobbles, shoulder nudging Haruka, and when he covers up at least five yawns.

Haruka’s stop is first, and Makoto will have to change lines two stops from there.

Haruka looks at Makoto out of the corner of his eye. “You can stay with me. If you want.”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s fine.”

“You look tired. You’re going to fall asleep and miss your stop.”

“That was _one_ time,” Makoto says, pouting. “Anyway, I have—”

The train rumbles to a stop. Haruka stands, grabbing Makoto’s sleeve again and tugging him with, the protestations falling away under the patter of feet and the echo of the station jingle.

Free from the station crowds. Cicadas buzz from trees and bushes.

They don’t speak until they reach Haruka’s apartment and argue over who takes the futon. Haruka wins it by saying Makoto’s mom said Makoto had to sleep on the bed if he slept over (a teensy lie), and after changing clothes, washing their faces, and brushing their teeth, they settle in with the lights off, Haruka on the futon and Makoto above on Haruka’s bed.

A few breaths.

“That was fun,” Makoto murmurs. “Your teammates are entertaining.”

“Mm.”

“You know, I’m glad you’re getting along better with Kisumi. He really is a good guy.”

Petulant, Haruka says, “Sometimes.”

Makoto laughs.

No words for a while. Rustles from the bed as Makoto shifts around. Haruka exhales, curling his arm around his blanket and hugging it close to himself.

Softly: “Haru?”

“Hm?”

“Do you miss Iwatobi?”

Haruka opens his eyes, focusing on the blinking light of the fire detector on the ceiling. He does not reply for several blinks. “Sometimes.”

Stillness, and Haruka holds his breath, waiting, but a response doesn’t come.

Makoto sighs and shifts again. “Goodnight, Haru.”

“Goodnight.”

The blinking light lulls Haruka to sleep.

He wakes early the next morning on his first proper day off in a long time. Pale light streams in, touching the opposite wall, and Makoto remains asleep, on his side with his arms curled into his chest.

Haruka takes a cold bath to wake himself up. His fingers are wrinkled by the time there’s a knock at the bathroom door.

“Haru?” Makoto pokes his head in.

With a slosh of water, Haruka leans onto the rim of the tub. “What?’

“Where do you keep your coffee?”

“I don’t have any coffee.”

“Oh.”

Haruka narrows his eyes. “That stuff’s bad if you get addicted to it.”

“I’m not _addicted_ to it. I just drink it occasionally for a little extra energy here and there.”

Haruka smirks.

“Fine. I’ll drink tea, then.” The door shuts.

Haruka brushes his hair from his forehead and rests his head back on the rim of the tub.

After his bath, Haruka cooks mackerel for himself and salmon for Makoto. Makoto has work, so he changes back into his clothes from yesterday and leaves with a smile and a wave. The apartment becomes Haruka’s again.

Scanning the fridge, Haruka figures he could use the free time to go stock up on food. He hops down to the supermarket he likes best, which is a bit of hike from the apartment. Makoto tells him to just use the closer one, but the closer one’s fish doesn’t taste right, though Makoto insists they’re the same.

With a basket full of mackerel, salmon, chicken, and assorted veggies, Haruka stops in the drink aisle. He considers the different brands of barley tea and settles on the same one he always drinks.

He steps down the aisle, passing the tea and slowing at the coffee. He plucks up a bag of Dark Roast Espresso and drops it into the basket.

* * *

Summer break. Haru has a training camp, so Makoto returns to Iwatobi on his own. It’s a relief to stay in his old room again, eat dinner with his siblings and parents, and visit Nagisa and Rei and Kou at Iwatobi. He watches their practice, offers pointers to their new kids, and joins them on the walk back, getting a double popsicle out of habit.

Nagisa, already with his own strawberry popsicle, plucks the double one from Makoto’s hand. He breaks it and keeps one half, handing the other back with a wink. “Thanks, Mako-chan,” he coos.

“Nagisa-kun, you shouldn’t have more than one,” Rei chides.

Nagisa takes one bite of each, bounding off to lead the group forward. Lagging behind at the end of the group, Makoto eyes his popsicle. He takes a bite.

At night, he lies in his bed, listening to familiar birds and crickets. The heat is stifling, despite his fan whirring at the foot of the bed, so he lies atop his comforter. He’s been lying here for a while, but no luck. No sleep.

Makoto sits up and pulls back the curtain from the window. The Nanases’ house is dark.

* * *

The new semester has started, but it still feels like summer, sweat dripping down Haruka’s neck as he stands in bright sunlight, waiting by the east exit of the station.

He isn’t concerned at first, content to people watch. But when it hits ten minutes, fifteen minutes, a prickle of unease grows in the pit of his stomach.

Haru pulls out his phone. No new calls, no new messages. Makoto always sends off an apology for being late even if he’s two minutes later than the arranged meeting time.

**where are you**

The message goes unread for several minutes. Haruka closes LINE and reopens it: still unread. He dials Makoto’s number, pulse quickening with every ring that goes unanswered.

“ _The person you have dialed is not available, please—_ ”

Haruka hangs up and immediately redials, fingers tight around his phone.

Click on the third ring.

“…Haru?” Makoto’s voice is confused, raspy.

“Where are you?”

“Hm?”

“The planetarium? You said to meet at one.”

“Hm? …Oh! Oh no! Was that today?! I’m so sorry, Haru! I, ah, I hung out with a couple of people from my anatomy class last night and they went out for drinks and I… Well, I didn’t want to be left out so I got pretty drunk and your call just woke me up… Ugh, I think I have a hangover.”

The adrenaline dripping away, Haruka draws in a slow breath, processing Makoto’s words. “Do you want me to come over?”

“Oh, no, Haru, it’s fine. I already feel bad enough about making you wait.”

Haruka scrambles for something to say. “ _I_ wouldn’t have made you drink.”

“Huh? Haru, no one made me drink. I chose to.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have made you _feel_ like you had to drink.”

An exhale. “Haru.”

Haruka’s insides tighten: that’s the no-nonsense tone, the one Makoto occasionally pulls out on his siblings, Nagisa, his students. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to do what other people want.”

“I’m not.”

A clatter of footsteps. A business woman in tall heels rushes past, phone pressed to her ear.

Tongue dry, Haruka says, “Drink some water.” He hangs up.

His insides churn, and with nowhere to go now, he heads back into the station with the intention of going home, but on an impulse, he gets on at a different train. After getting off at the right stop, he stops at a 7-Eleven along the way, buying a couple bottles of green tea.

He uses the key card Makoto’s mom made for him to get into Makoto’s apartment building, climbing up the echoing stairs by himself. Faced with Makoto’s door, he does not knock, setting the bottles down on the floor and disappearing before his presence becomes known.

He goes for a mind-clearing swim at the pool near his apartment, and when he’s done, a text awaits him.

**Thanks for the tea, Haru-chan. You really didn’t have to**

Haruka slides his bag strap over his shoulder.

**what tea**

* * *

Makoto scratches his head, studying a color-coded diagram of the muscles of the back. He sits on the floor with his back pressed to his bed, textbooks and notes strewn out around him in a mess only he can make sense of. His hair is damp, fresh from the shower, and his eyes ache behind his reading glasses.

With midterms, the creeping chill of autumn, and late night training and work, Makoto and Haru have gone three weeks without seeing each other in person, barely managing to send the occasional text to confirm, yes, they both are still alive.

_Latissimus dorsi. Serratus anterior. Serratus posterior superior. Serratus posterior inferior._

Sighing, Makoto sets the sheet down and pulls off his glasses, running a hand down his face.

The apartment door opens.

For a second, Makoto is prepared to make a run for it, but he remembers only one person besides him and the landlord has a key. “Haru?” he says, leaning forward to peer through his room’s doorway.

Haru takes off his shoes at the entrance and rushes in, wearing his school’s jersey and sweatpants. He tosses his shoulder bag to the ground and plops down beside Makoto, sighing and leaning his head back into Makoto’s shoulder.

“H-Haru?!” Makoto frowns, craning away. “Is something wrong?”

Eyes shut, Haru says, “Bad practice.”

“Oh.”

Haru readjusts his head, his damp hair mussed. He smells like chlorine. “Bad week.”

“Oh,” Makoto repeats. He is rigid, hand on his anatomy textbook, Haru’s weight in his side.

They sit like this for another moment, Makoto unsure whether he should say something else, when Haru sits up, grabs Makoto’s arm, and slings it around his own shoulders.

“U-Uh—”

Haru settles back into Makoto’s side, one hand touching Makoto’s forearm. His eyes are shut and his mouth is pressed into a straight line, signaling he is not in the mood to talk.

Quietly, Makoto tempts, “Haru…”

Haru opens his eyes, and with a puff of a breath, shoulders off Makoto’s arm with a doleful expression. He stands, eyes on Makoto’s notes. “Good luck on your exam.”

Haru snatching up his bag and heading for the door, Makoto calls, “Wait, Haru—”

The front door clicks shut.

Blinking, Makoto looks back at his notes. His diagram of the back is crinkled down the middle.

A week later, Makoto is surprised to receive a text from Haru inviting him to hang out at Hidaka now that the worst of midterms are over. Makoto shows up, and though he’s been to Hidaka enough times to feel like it’s his own university, as he stands underneath the one poplar in wait, he feels like an intruder.

Haru arrives, and it is normal. They catch up on the last week of events, but eventually, they run out of things to talk about and walk in silence. Not the good silence.

They stop at the campus cafe, bell ringing overhead as they enter. They step in line, Makoto in front of Haru, behind a couple of other students.

“Oh! Nanase-kun!”

A girl—short, cutesy, thick blond hair, wide smile—approaches Haru, her backpack over her shoulder.

Haru does not smile. “Oh. Hi.”

“How are you? It feels like it’s been forever.”

“I’m fine. Training.”

“As always.” She laughs, entire face lighting up. She notices Makoto listening in, and the light dims. “Is this a friend?”

“Yeah, this is my childhood best friend, Tachibana Makoto. From Siberia.” Haru sends him a look that says, _Don’t expose me._

“Oh, really? Nice to meet you, I’m Hasegawa Michiko.”

“Uh, yes, that’s me.” Makoto scratches the back of his neck, feeling Haru’s gaze on him. “From Siberia.”

“Makoto actually is really good at skinning bears,” Haru says, with an inkling of a smirk. Makoto shoots him a horrified look.

“Oh, wow! I can’t even imagine.”

“Uh, well,” Makoto laughs. “It’s, uh, pretty difficult.”

Hasegawa smiles again, eyes returning to Haru. “Well, anyway, it’s good to see you! If you ever want to hang out sometime, just let me know! You have my email from that project, so.”

“Ah, yeah.” Haru nods. “Good to see you.”

With a wave and a smile, she breezes past, cafe bell ringing.

Makoto reaches the front of the line. He orders coffee. Haru orders jasmine tea.

With hot drinks warming their hands, they settle down into the cafe’s armchairs, Makoto pulling out his laptop. As he waits for the wifi to connect, he watches Haru blow on his tea, steam drifting upwards.

“She was nice,” is all Makoto can think to say.

“Mm.” Haru takes a sip.

Makoto watches, his tongue growing heavy in his mouth. It pops out before he can stop it. “I think she likes you.”

Haru’s brows pinch together. “She doesn’t.”

“I don’t know…”

“She doesn’t.”

Makoto opens his email so he doesn’t have to meet Haru’s eyes, ears burning. He doesn’t process any of the subjects or senders. “Okay.”

He begins typing, eyes flicking up for a second; Haru curls his hands around his mug, his eyes cast down.

In the evening, when Makoto has only a paragraph written of his paper and Haru has barely touched his homework, they part ways, with Haru having a swim team party to celebrate the end of the semester.

“I don’t want to go,” Haru grumbles. “All they’re going to do is drink. I’m not walking Kiryuu home again.”

“Just show up for a few minutes to be nice, then you can leave.” Makoto waves. “Try to have fun.”

Haru waves back.

On the cold walk back to the station, Makoto is distracted. His mind returns to a head of blond hair, sat at the perfect height for Haru.

A swift wind stirs up fallen leaves. They scuttle across the sidewalk.

* * *

Cold winter air sinks into Haruka’s damp hair the moment he steps outside the natatorium. Asahi and the others already left with finals tomorrow to study for, and in spite of his own pressing final tomorrow morning, Haruka continued doing laps until the facilities employees kicked him out.

He walks the dim path for off-campus, his breath cloudy. Other students rush to the library, to home, to dinner. Up ahead, he spots a head of blond hair.

“Hasegawa-san!” he calls.

Hasegawa whips around. She waves, stopping in her tracks for him to catch up. “Hi!” she chirps. “Did you just have practice?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re making you practice during finals? That’s rough.”

Haruka shrugs. “Helps clear my mind.”

She laughs.

They stand. Haruka knows they must look like an average pair, a typical match.

He exhales, breath rising. “Hey, Hasegawa-san?”

“What?”

“I’ve been lying to you. I’m not from Siberia.”

Her brows draw together. “Huh?”

“I was bored of saying facts about myself, so I started making them up. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let it go on this long.”

Her eyes glaze over, like she’s too busy processing. “Oh… I see.”

“I’m sorry.” Haruka softens his voice. “Good luck on your exams.”

He brushes past her.

When he eats lunch with Asahi the next day, listening to Asahi bemoan his awful final, Hasegawa walks past, laughing with a friend. She doesn’t meet his eyes.

It’s okay. Maybe they can be actual friends some day.

* * *

Buzz of Makoto’s phone. Text from his friend from his anatomy class.

**Yo hurry up dude! I feel so lonely sitting here by myself**

 

**Sorry, I’ll be there soon**

He shoves the phone into his pocket and returns to his survey of his shirts, rummaging through his drawer. Nothing speaks to him, or maybe they all speak to him in the same pitch. His mind drifts to Haru and his inability to pick his swimsuits for a second, but he shoves that aside.

At the bottom of the drawer is his orange and green plaid button down, still untouched from the last time he wore it, that wet day during rainy season. He rests his hand on it, finger brushing one of the buttons.

Pulling it out, he unbuttons the top two buttons so he can slip it on overhead, and hops in front of the mirror. There are creases from being folded up for so long, but he doesn’t feel bothered to iron it. Also, he doesn’t know how to iron it properly. Haru would know.

At the library, his friend Kazu says nothing about his shirt. “Dude, do you remember anything from week four?” he frets. “I’m so confused.”

Makoto sits down, putting on his glasses and pulling out his notebook. “Let’s see.”

* * *

The door echoes shut behind Haruka, latch automatically clicking. He checks his mailbox: adverts for department stores, the apartment complex’s monthly newsletter, flyer from his university. He chucks them into the combustibles bin by the stairs and begins the climb up to his apartment.

His exams are over and for once, he has a break from training over winter break, so he’s finally going to go back to Iwatobi with Makoto. They planned it and bought their tickets weeks ago. He should check in, see how Makoto’s exams went.

He reaches the second landing and turns to head up to the third landing. Footsteps trickle down from above him.

It’s Makoto. He jerks to a stop on the third landing when he sees Haruka, mouth opening.

“Oh.” Haruka stops. “Makoto.”

“Hey,” Makoto says. “I stopped by to see if you were here, but…”

A pause. Haruka asks, silently.

Makoto’s eyes flicker away, his hand pressed to the railing. His eyes are tired. He attempts a small, weak smile. “My exams didn’t go great. I mean, I didn’t fail or anything, but…”

“Oh.”

Makoto shifts his weight. With a large inhale, he walks down the steps to Haruka, stopping on the second landing beside him.

Wordlessly, he wraps his arms around Haruka’s neck and hugs him, face dipped to Haruka’s shoulder. Haruka freezes. He carefully circles his arms around Makoto’s lower back, and Makoto squeezes tighter, his fingers sinking into the back of Haruka’s hair.

Makoto’s watch tick, tick, ticks.

Haruka turns his head, mouth almost touching Makoto’s neck, and murmurs, “I love you.”

Makoto straightens up, hand remaining on Haruka’s shoulder. A twitch of his mouth. He touches Haruka’s cheek. Haruka exhales and tilts his head, leaning into Makoto’s hand.

The fluorescent lights hum.

“Haruka,” Makoto says.

* * *

Rain again, this year. At least Makoto doesn’t have to worry about orientation sessions to go to, and with classes yet to start, he can lounge around in his apartment, drinking tea and gathering warmth from Haru.

It’s Haru’s idea they go to hanami in spite of the downpour, and after refusing at first, Makoto caves in. They share an umbrella (Haru conveniently “forgot” his), and amble the park with soaked shoes. Other people, far more crazy than they could ever be, are staked out, one group of friends sat dry inside an entire camping tent, sipping on beers.

Haru pouts at the umbrella overhead. “It blocks the view,” he says.

“That’s kind of the point.”

Ignoring him, Haru steps out into the rain.

“ _Haru—_ ” Makoto stands rooted a moment, watching Haru forge ahead. He sighs and he closes up the umbrella, dropping it to his side. Cold rain batters him from above, droplets trickling down his face.

Haru looks over his shoulder with a smug look.

“If we get sick, I’m blaming _you._ ”

Faint smile still on his mouth, Haru turns forward.

They walk, receiving weird looks from other passersby, until Makoto no longer feels the cold.

Slowing at the foot of a cherry tree, Haru scans the trunk, eyes lifting. He says to the air, and to Makoto, “It’s beautiful.”

Leaves twitch with each drop of rain. Petals bob in the puddles below. The blossoms glow pink against the gray gloom.

“Yeah,” Makoto says, “it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> mood songs for those Softboi Hours™: [clouds - borns,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zklODPVvvgc) [tranquilize - finish ticket,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0IAbCFnnW4) [every songbird says - sam beam and jesca hoop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MAzgRAs-qAs)
> 
>  
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/bronii_chan)


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